


Brothers of a Kind

by Wolvesandwerewolves



Series: What's in a Name? [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic, White Collar
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, Unusual Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 08:27:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolvesandwerewolves/pseuds/Wolvesandwerewolves
Summary: Neal Caffrey and Neil Josten are brothers.Mostly with the White Collar fandom. Knowledge of All for the Game isn't strictly necessary, but I would recommend reading the books.I know this is an unusual crossover, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone.Post canon for All for the Game; goes up to Season Three for White Collar.





	Brothers of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I don't know what I'm doing with my life. Or to these characters. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> :)

The first time Neal mentions his brother, it's two months before Kate dies.

They're walking alongside a crowded park, dogs and children running around them. The air stings his lungs, burns his skin. Neal's laughter floats in the air, crashing into other voices and aimless noise like ice caps on the arctic sea. His words crash into Peter at the same time.

He coughs, shaking his head as Neal pats him harshly on the back. He gasps, eyes watering, and throws the rest of his hot dog away, suddenly uninterested. Neal hands him his own bottle of water and kindly doesn't mention that he nearly choked to death half an hour before their board meeting. He takes it gratefully, chugs half the bottle before handing it back, still gasping.

“Your brother?” he croaks. Neal has never mentioned any siblings or parents; he's never mentioned his childhood or even where he was born. His files only go back as far as his eighteenth birthday. There's not even a birth certificate or anything showing him getting a license when he turned sixteen, which Peter assumes to mean Neal isn't Neal's real name. There’s legitimate reasons for it—the courthouse with the records burned down, Neal's mother never kept any copies—but that’s what Nick Halden told him long ago, not Neal. If Peter didn't know any better, he would assume his friend just miraculously appeared one day, perfect and challenging.

Neal shrugs casually, as if talk of his personal life beyond Mozzie, June and Kate is a regular thing. Its odd, to think of Neal existing outside of the anklet, outside of his alleged criminal adventures. It's refreshing.

“My brother,” he repeats. It sounds natural. It feels freeing, somehow.

Peter smiles. “Okay,” he says, shrugging back, careful, casual. “Your brother.”

The rest of the conversation steers back to the original topic, but Peter's mind keeps going back to that one tiny detail.

* * *

 

The next time it happens, Peter isn't quite caught off guard. He's coaxing Neal by talking of his own brother, hoping Neal will casually let something slip again. There's nothing else better to do in the van and its just the two of them. The people they're staking out aren't interesting, aren't exciting. The man sitting next to him is.

“There was a thin strip of woods behind the house—we were out in the middle of nowhere, really, nothing like this city. Every summer, Jack and I would build a little more of the treehouse fort we wanted out there. Dad helped, but not often and for the most part we used scrap nails and broken plywood. It's still there, on my parents’ farm. Even the ladder that Jack broke; we never replaced it.” He smiles, glancing towards his partner before looking back to the monitors.

“Peter Burke,” Neal says, “farm boy.”

Peter laughs. “Yeah. What about you?” he asks, hesitation only just seeping into his voice.

Neal shakes his head. “Nope,” he says, popping the _P._ “No farm. I'm a city boy, of course.”

Peter hasn't expected anything else. “No fort?”

“Not unless you count blankets draped over chairs in the living room,” Neal says.

Peter smiles at his own memories. “Sounds like fun.”

“Mom hated it.”

 _That’s sad,_ Peter thinks, but doesn't ask. Instead, he takes a chance. He's sure Neal already knows what he's hoping to learn, anyway. “What about your brother?”

Neal glances over at him, _I see what you did there,_ but he doesn't seem upset. There's sadness mingled into his michevious expression, but Peter doesn't think it's directed towards him. It's nostalgic. “Nah. He's my half brother. We're a few years apart, anyway.”

He can't help but ask. Curiosity about his partner is buzzing in his brain. He's not sure why he wants to know more—maybe, he thinks, it's friendship. “Older or younger?”

“You want to know if I'm setting a bad example or following one?” There's a grin in his voice.

“Maybe,” Peter says, grinning back, even though Neal didn't actually answer. The question doesn't let go of him, but they have time. Four years. If Neal doesn't want to tell him, that's okay. “I'm just wondering if I should be looking for another one of you.”

“There's only one of me, Peter.”

“Thank God,” Peter says and laughs.

* * *

 

  
Peter catches Neal smoking not too long after Kate dies. His heart seizes. Neal's never really smoked before and he wonders if it’s a sign his friend isn't coping as well as he wants everyone to think he is. Maybe he needs another secret meeting with Mozzie.

He parks the car, kills the engine. He said he'd pick Neal up for dinner tonight, but they could always use a few minutes to talk. He walks over to Neal, slowly, so he doesn't surprise his partner. When Neal sees him, he waves half heartedly, taking one more drag off his cigarette before squashing it under his shoe.

He could be gentle about this, let Neal shrug him off. Or he could be direct—Neal would hate it, but. Peter won't let himself brush this off. If this is a coping method, that's fine, but if Neal is still struggling with Kate's death and not talking about it—that’s not.

“You don't smoke,” he says, bluntly.

Neal rolls his eyes. “Stop worrying, Peter. It's nothing. You've seen me smoke before.”

“On a case,” Peter says. “We're not undercover.” Neal doesn't answer him. “Neal? Talk to me.”

Neal sighs. “It's nothing to worry about,” he promises. “My brother is in town—June's letting ‘em stay in the other guest room a floor below.”

Peter blinks. He thinks of the hesitance Neal always applies to his brother, how he hardly ever says anything about him. Peter doesn't even know his name. Are they fighting? Near-estranged? Does his brother not approve of Neal's career choices? His heart twinges. If that's the case, well. Neal deserves better. Peter doesn't necessarily like the law breaking, either (even if it is impressive) but he's never held it against Neal. He's a good person.

“That stressful, huh? I always try to make Jack stay in a hotel. For as close as we were when we were kids, its hard to believe he's the same person.” _Been there, man. It sucks._ He pats Neal’s shoulder as he steers them off the curb, towards the car.

Neal smiles, small and gentle, as if he were listening to a child tell a story. “No,” he says, and his laugh is young, like a babe taking its first breath, barely alive, but _there_. He hasn't laughed much since Kate died. “They both smoke. It's hard not to.”

Peter nods, but the motion is abruptly cut when he processes Neal's words. He's only ever mentioned one brother. “They?”

“His boyfriend,” Neal says, and it almost sounds like a challenge.

It is a challenge, he realizes. But Peter's not homophobic. That's not the game.

And really, it's none of his business. But he wants to know more about Neal and if his brother is here—if he's a good presence for Neal, as evidenced by the laugh—and really, El made more than enough spaghetti.

“Invite them,” he says.

Neal smiles, like he expected this answer but is proud Peter got there, anyway. “They don't talk much,” he says. “And they're at the gym, now—I doubt they'll be back until later.”

Peter nods. He tries not to be disappointed.

“What's his name?” he asks, spur of the moment. Neal grins at him, eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Would you believe me if I said it was Neil?”

* * *

 

  
The meeting is over, but a few agents have stayed in the conference room to mingle. He wants to go to Neal, talk to him about the music box, but Neal is talking to Jones and he looks relaxed. He doesn't want to bring the tension back in his shoulders. He stays quiet, but wanders over to listen and talk with Neal about other things. Life can be still, just for this moment.

“You like Exy?” Neal asks, eyebrows slightly raised, smile firmly in place.

Jones shrugs. “Yeah, Caffrey,” he says, voice low and smooth. “It's a pretty new thing, but it blew up. Who doesn't like it?”

“It's just like lacrosse,” Diana says, joining the conversation. Jones scowls at her, but it's friendly. “Isn't it rumored to have mob ties?”

“Rumors,” Neal says, shrugging. He's got that look in his eye, like he knows something.

“You like Exy, Neal?” Peter asks, smiling but with narrowed eyes. Neal isn't a sports man.

“Never been a huge fan,” he says, “but sure. My brother’s obsessed—he even knows Kevin Day.”

Jones eyes bulge out of his head and Peter can admit, he's surprised, too. He prefers baseball, but of course he's heard of Day. The kid ruined his hand—it was supposedly broken by the deceased Riko Moriyama—and instead of backing down, giving up, Day learned how to play with his other hand and even went pro. Its something Peter never would have been able to do for baseball, no matter how much he loves it. He can admire Day and his commitment.

“He knows Kevin Day or he's met Kevin Day?” Diana asks, friendly suspicion coloring her voice.

“Oh, I've met Day, too,” Neal says and Jones looks as if he's received the best news of his life. Neal smiles at him. “Did you know he's a history buff? He knows almost as much as me or Mozzie.”

“Neal,” Jones says, sounding like he's indulging their friend in a secret, “did you know I have a birthday coming up?” He winks.

Neal winks back as Peter and Diana glance at each other, hiding a smirk. “Of course. You want a foraged signature?”

They laugh at Jones offended expression until he joins in. “I was hoping for a little more,” he admits, crinkles by his eyes.

Neal grins. Peter feels the need to remind him, _Nothing illegal._ He doesn't.

“I can get us tickets,” he promises. “Maybe a backstage pass to the press interview afterwards.”

Jones settles his hand on Neal's shoulder. Peter and Diana grin at each other. Today, he decides, is a good day. He's happy. Neal's happy. Maybe he'll invite him over for dinner tonight.

“Neal,” Jones says, “you're the best.”

* * *

 

  
Neal starts smoking again. Peter asks him if his brother is in town.

“He's thinking of moving here,” Neal says. Peter isn't sure how to react. “He wants to be closer to his boyfriend—and me, I suppose.”

Peter still doesn't know his name. He wonders, sometimes, if he even knows Neal's name. If he even knows Neal at all.

He thinks of shooting Vincent Adler in the back and does not ask.

* * *

 

  
The date for the Exy game that has Kevin Day coming to New York rolls around. It's outside of Neal's radius, but only just. And apparently, Neal's brother will be at the same game. Neal doesn't see him much, even though he moved. They both work too much and Neal doesn't want anyone to know him. Jones could bring him along, act as his official FBI escort.

He doesn't.

Peter doesn’t trust him, not after the warehouse blew up. Going to a game of that size, with that many people crowding about and it would be all too easy to slip away unnoticed. Jones even offers to handcuff himself to Caffrey, but that's not a good idea, either. It wouldn't stop Neal.

Peter doesn't ask him to, but Jones tells Neal its his decision; he says he wants his girlfriend to go with him, that she's obsessed as he is. Jones doesn't have a girlfriend. Neal isn't fooled. Peter can tell with the way he glances over at him. Not accusing, but something else. Maybe it’s hurt.

He smiles at Jones all the same, shrugs it off.

“If you get to talk to him,” Neal says, “tell Kevin I say hi. Ask him about Leonardo Da Vinci, or about the Trojans—Jeremy Knox. He'll love you.”

Jones smiles, but its obvious he feels bad about it, too. Peter doesn't want to feel guilty. Neal deserves this. He lied to Peter and he broke the law. He's still lying to Peter.

He feels guilty, anyway.

You can't lie to a con man.

* * *

 

  
They get Elizabeth back. She has bruises, a few scratches from the glass of the window she broke to escape, but that's it. Peter almost can't breath with how relieved he is.

They were lucky, he knows. Keller is a psychopath. He has never known that more than when he watches his wife’s hands tremble right after the kidnapping or when he studies the large scrape and bruise on Neal's temple.

Neal has a concussion. Diana took him to the hospital for a quick check up after he went with Peter back to the house, to see that El really was okay. Peter tells El and she looks sad, worried.

“You know it's not his fault, hon,” she says, but Peter doesn't. He doesn't know that. But things are complicated and he doesn't feel as if he knows anything.

Neal offers to turn himself in. He doesn't say that Mozzie will go free, but Peter knows. He hates him for it.

Keller takes the credit for the stolen treasure, instead.

* * *

 

  
Two weeks pass and things don't change much. But then El gets tired of his constant hovering. She doesn't exactly kick him out, but Peter knows she needs the space. Keller is in prison, so she's safe. He can afford to leave the house for a few hours.

He's not sure how he ends up at Neal's place. By the expression on his face, Neal's not sure how he ended up here, either.

Peter clears his throat, uncomfortable. “El wanted space.”

Neal accepts that with a nod, doesn't ask questions or make jokes. He lets Peter in, steps up to the stove.

“You hungry?” he asks.

Peter shrugs. In the background, there's an Exy game playing on the tv. He wonders if Neal's brother is in the stands, watching the game. He wonders if he feels closer to his brother this way.

“Sure.”

He sits at the couch, watching the rest of the game with mild interest as Neal cooks. Every once in a while, Neal will wander over, stare at the tv over Peter's shoulder for a few minutes. He doesn't say anything. Neither does Peter.

After a while, a player goes down. Its not a bad hit, shoulder to shoulder to plexiglass, but the other player is so short, so tiny compared to the guy that hits him. He goes down quickly, looking dazed but angry as the other player runs off with the ball. Peter winces in sympathy as the guy struggles to get back up. Behind him, Neal hisses his breath.

“Did he hit his head?” he asks. Peter glances at him, but his back is already turned, taking the Indian off the stove and arranging it on two plates.

“Couldn't tell.”

“Hope not,” Neal mutters, as he sets the plates at the table. He pours another glass of wine for himself as Peter sits down. “According to—well, my brother's boyfriend—that would be his second concussion this season.”

Peter hums. He doesn't really want to talk about a game he hardly likes, a game Neal only likes in relation to his brother, but it's easy. Its meaningingless. Still, he doesn't answer. He's not sure what to say.

“What's your brother's name?” he asks eventually. It's stupid, that after everything he would still want to know. But he does.

Neal hesitates. He shrugs, taking a sip of wine.

“It's Neil.”

Peter blinks. “What's your name?”

“That's a long story.”

Peter sighs, irritable. “You said you'd tell me everything.”

“Are you ready to hear everything?” Neal counters.

He wants to say, _Stop stalling_. But he realizes that Neal is probably right. He's still angry. He's not ready to let go of it completely, yet.

“I'll settle for your name,” Peter says.

“Danny,” Neal says, quietly. “I grew up as Danny.”

They eat in silence for a while. When it's over, and Neal's picking up, he says, “I'll introduce you to him, sometime. But he doesn't like FBI. It's up to him.”

Peter nods. He can accept that.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment or leave kudos . . . I'm unsure what to think of this, so please tell me what you think. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
